


I'll Be Waiting Outside for the Getaway

by Ultirex



Series: Live Like the Movies Do [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: 3am dates, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Recreational Drug Use, young idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: The moment that Hot Rod stole a kiss behind the bleachers, Deadlock knew it was over for him.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Series: Live Like the Movies Do [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793134
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	I'll Be Waiting Outside for the Getaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Respirdal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Respirdal/gifts).



> Commission for Res! I had a lot of fun with this prompt. :)

The remnants of Deadlock’s last cigarette still smoldered in the ashtray, but not even the accompanying rush of dopamine could help him sleep.

His bed creaked worse than Megatron’s knees with each toss and turn, and he eventually resigned himself to glowering at the ceiling as if it were responsible for this bout of insomnia. 

He knew who the real culprit was, of course. It was just easier to glare holes through the graffiti and posters plastered above him than think about how Hot Rod had stolen a kiss behind the bleachers, right before disappearing into the crowd gathered beneath the Friday night lights. 

The brat was bold. Deadlock only wished Hot Rod had stuck around to let him return the favor. 

Sleep became a lost cause when he heard a resounding crash. It sounded close, but any concern at the possible threat of a burglary was secondary to the annoyance Deadlock felt as the neighbor’s dog began yapping in response. 

There was no further commotion. Deadlock assumed the culprit had either left or knocked themselves out cold until a muffled series of curses broke the ensuing silence. 

He didn’t bother to throw on something decent over his tank top and boxers before he made his way to the window. It groaned in protest as he forced it open, sounding as pained as Hot Rod was as he rolled on the ground two stories down. 

“What are you doing here, Hot Shot?” Deadlock asked as he surveyed the damage. “Other than eating shit.”

Charming as ever. He was fortunate that Hot Rod wasn’t dissuaded by his unpolished demeanor; seemed to like it, even. 

Hot Rod was nursing his head - and likely a concussion as well - but he still managed to grin at Deadlock as he sat up. “Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t find any rocks to throw, either, so I figured I’d do that thing where you climb the trellis - no, seriously, I can’t believe you guys actually have a trellis.”

Pieces of said trellis had fallen and splintered around Hot Rod. There were no flowers to be seen among the carnage, just the withered husks of what may have once been roses.

How Hot Rod could still look endearing all muddied and surrounded by the consequences of his own hubris, Deadlock didn’t know. But it did have him gripping the windowsill and trying to refrain from saying something stupid.

“You want to go somewhere?” Hot Rod asked, surprisingly straightforward after his theatrics. “You and me, right now.”

Deadlock caught a glimpse of the neighbor’s dog. The mutt had its paws pressed up against Thundercracker’s living room window and was still sounding the alarm. Deadlock figured it was only a matter of time before she woke the entire neighborhood, Megatron included, if Hot Rod’s stunt hadn’t already done so.

“I got a place in mind,” Deadlock said. 

He shut his window, wincing at the incriminating squeal it made. He quickly put on the pair of pants that was draped over his chair and the jacket that had fallen off the foot of his bed, nearly tripping over his cleats in the process. His attempt at a quiet escape lacked any sort of grace, and he could feel Ravage’s yellow eyes judging him in the dark.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ snitch,” he said, giving the cat a pointed look on his way out the door. 

Ravage simply flicked his tail and went back to grooming himself. 

**______________________________**

The night was brisk as they made their way across the soccer field. The freshly-watered grass crunched beneath their feet, filling the quiet between them. 

Hot Rod had gotten over that phase in their friendship - or, well, whatever this was between them, and like hell Deadlock would be the one to give a name to it - where he’d felt the need to keep up a constant stream of chatter. 

They’d both learned to find a certain comfort in those lapses in conversation, in understanding the value of someone’s presence. 

Hot Rod’s fingers occasionally brushed against Deadlock’s as they walked, but he never committed to the action. Tease.

“I’m trying to picture what you would have been like as a kid,” Hot Rod said as they reached the pavement encircling the playground. “But I’m just - I dunno, I can’t really see it.”

The swing set had been neglected over the years. Deadlock gripped the rusted chain suspending one of the few intact seats and gave it an experimental tug. 

“I was a little shit,” Deadlock said simply. “Got in fights all the time. Knocked a couple baby teeth out of one kid. Gave another one stitches. He’s still got a fucked up eyebrow because of it. Both of ‘em deserved it.”

Hot Rod’s eyes were innocently wide. “You serious?”

Deadlock snorted. “No. I was quiet. The kinda kid that got bullied, not the other way around. Kids find out you’re adopted and eat you alive because ‘daddy don’t love you’ or whatever. Not that I need to tell you that.”

“Yeah,” Hot Rod murmured. He took the swing adjacent to Deadlock’s and sat down. The bar overhead groaned ominously but didn’t collapse, so Deadlock followed suit. “Kids suck. I’d say I’m glad we all grew up and got past that but it never really ends, does it?”

His feet skimmed against the ground as he lazily swung back and forth. Hot Rod’s loud personality typically made up for his shorter stature, and Deadlock snickered at the thought that, at least here, Hot Rod wouldn’t be dwarfed by anyone.

Hot Rod gave him a dubious look. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Deadlock said. He got off and instead stood behind Hot Rod. He placed his hands on Hot Rod’s back to give him a push, and it struck him then how thin the material of Hot Rod’s shirt was. It didn’t help that it and his jeans were caked with mud after the trellis incident. “Christ, Hot Rod, you couldn’t have put on some real clothes?”

Hot Rod glanced coyly over his shoulder. “You want me to take it off?”

Deadlock sputtered. Hot Rod cackled.

“You’re gonna freeze your ass off out here,” Deadlock managed to say, ashamed at how much a single flirtatious comment had gotten him flustered. The audacity of this brat. “Here.”

He shrugged his way out of his letterman and draped it across Hot Rod’s shoulders. He lamented that he would no longer be able to feel the warmth of Hot Rod’s skin beneath a flimsy layer of cotton, but knew that Hot Rod never did well with the cold.

“What about you?” Hot Rod gave Deadlock a glance over. His gaze did indulgently linger on Deadlock’s arms, toned in a way that the threat of a lost scholarship and financial ruin could inspire. 

“I’ll be fine,” Deadlock insisted. “I’m not a wuss, like you.”

Hot Rod’s hands were lost in the sleeves of the jacket as he slipped it on. “You ever consider that the reason I bitch about the cold is ‘cause it’s a great excuse for someone to hold you?”

Deadlock’s mind short circuited. “What.”

“What?” Hot Rod repeated. “C’mon, gimme a push. Let’s see how high this thing can go before it breaks.”

“Seems like you got a thing for head trauma,” Deadlock remarked. He kept his touch light and brief, giving Hot Rod a gentle push to get him going. “You should join the team. You’d fit right in.”

Hot Rod snorted. “You know my scrawny ass wouldn’t last a second on the field. I like a cheap thrill as much as the next guy but I’m not tryna get myself killed.”

“So it’s the danger, then,” Deadlock said. He cleared his throat. The roundabout spun slowly as a breeze blew through the playground, and though the air was chill it did little to cool him down. Felt like Hot Rod always had that effect on him. “You’re one of those adrenaline junkies. Must be the reason you like hanging around me so much.”

“One of them,” Hot Rod said, playful in a way that told Deadlock he’d have to work for the rest of those reasons. “Come on, harder.”

Hot Rod’s word choice would undoubtedly factor into Deadlock’s fantasies for a few weeks, or at least until Hot Rod gave him something beyond a fleeting kiss that just left him wanting more. 

He gave Hot Rod a more forceful push this time, grateful for the way the darkness helped hide his flushed face and preserve a bit of his dignity. 

Deadlock was a loner and a delinquent. He did not _pine._

“Think I can stick the landing?” Hot Rod asked. He’d reached what was a miraculous height, given the way the swing was squealing with every back and forth motion of his legs, and started to inch forward in his seat.

“You still got some mud on your ass,” Deadlock said dryly. 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

Deadlock grinned. “Nope.”

“Figures,” Hot Rod said. “Let me redeem myself then. One….”

He didn’t bother with the rest of his countdown. At the apex of his next swing Hot Rod let go of the chains and jumped, sailing forward several feet before hitting the sand in a crouched position.

Deadlock watched as he swayed there for a minute, inelegantly waving his arms to try and regain his balance and stop himself from going zero to two against gravity. 

Hot Rod’s determination to not look like a fool was admirable, in a way, but Deadlock found his attention gravitating more towards how flattering those skinny jeans were on him.

When he managed not to topple over, Hot Rod stood with a triumphant shout. 

“You were saying?”

“I’ve seen better,” Deadlock said. He made his way over to the structure in the middle of the playground, leaving an indignant Hot Rod in his wake.

The monkey bars had always been a proverbial gauntlet of sorts, used to establish a hierarchy that could only exist at recess. Kids without the upper body strength to make their way across were at the bottom of the pecking order. Those who had the callouses as proof of their successful journey were somewhere in the middle, while the top was reserved for those who could reach exactly that.

Sitting on top of them now, Deadlock couldn’t explain why this spot had been looked on with such reverence. Hot Rod, walking the precarious line of them, didn’t seem that impressed either. 

“Why did you want to come here, anyways?” Hot Rod asked. He had his arms held straight out on either side of him as he placed one foot slowly in front of the other, but Deadlock figured it was only a matter of time before a repeat of the shit eating incident. “College got you feeling nostalgic?”

“God, no,” Deadlock said. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and fumbled with his lighter. “Kids are miserable, remember? At least now people have learned to mind their own business. Sort of.”

He took a drag before offering his cigarette to Hot Rod, who declined. 

“They’re tearing this place down next week,” Deadlock said. “It’s about time. Just thought I’d - I dunno.”

“Say goodbye?” Hot Rod suggested. He wobbled as he pivoted around to start walking back towards Deadlock, but managed to avoid falling. “It’s ok to want to. We all got complicated relationships with our childhoods, or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Deadlock conceded. “Who knows. Who cares. What I want to know is why you came to me.”

It wasn’t like Hot Rod had any shortage of friends. He had a natural charisma about him that drew people in, but then again Deadlock had to wonder how many of them bothered to stick around and scratch beneath the surface of his confident veneer. 

“Well.” Hot Rod slowly lowered himself down so that he was sitting next to Deadlock, close enough for their knees to brush as Hot Rod let his legs sway over the edge. He went quiet for a moment, as if deeply contemplating the answer and preparing some verbose speech, all of which culminated in a shrug and him simply saying, “Because I wanted to spend time with you.”

The cigarette dangled loosely in Deadlock’s lips. He had to grab it to keep it from dropping. Hot Rod’s gaze was painfully sincere - it always seemed like it was around him - but he still found himself asking, “Really?”

Hot Rod’s brow furrowed. He always was brutally honest with his emotions, not so much wearing them on his sleeve as broadcasting them with neon lights as vivid as the colors he wore. “Yeah. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

The cigarette dwindled between Deadlock’s fingers, woefully neglected as he tried to process what Hot Rod had just said between a haze of dopamine and something even more potent that he couldn’t put a name to. 

“Like, I mean…” Hot Rod scratched his nose, suddenly looking sheepish. Deadlock figured that, despite the bravado he usually displayed, he still struggled with the conversations that actually mattered. Survival mechanisms from youth took time to progress past; something Deadlock was all too familiar with. “Look, I’m not - I’m pretty bad with words, ok? But what I’m trying to say is, when I’m with you, things are just so…”

He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hands as he grasped for the proper words. Deadlock was mesmerized by those hands, recalling how they’d felt braced against his chest when Hot Rod had kissed him. The brat had needed to stand on his tiptoes to do it, but there had never been any doubt as to who was in control of the situation. 

Images rose unbidden to Deadlock’s mind of Hot Rod shyly running his tongue along Deadlock’s lip, only for Deadlock to return the favor with a forceful nip that would have Hot Rod shuddering against him and uttering filthy promises in his ear.

Hot Rod had only given him a taste, and he was hooked.

“Everything is a lot more simple, when I’m with you,” Hot Rod concluded. His hands stilled, effectively snapping Deadlock from his fantasizing. “Easy. Everyone always has these great expectations of me because of Orion and Getaway and I feel like I’m just waiting to let them down. But when I’m with you I’m just - well, me. And I’m happy.”

Happiness had always been hard to come by for Deadlock. Hot Rod was brave to give a voice to his own. 

“I, um.” 

Deadlock reached blindly for a response that would match the gravity of what Hot Rod had just told him, that would bring some order to the emotional maelstrom that had him feeling six different ways at once; all without being able to put a name to a single one. 

Instead, he responded with a woefully ineloquent “Shit” when his cigarette slipped from his trembling fingers - when had they started shaking? 

Hot Rod leaned forward to watch it tumble into the sandbox below, tainting this hallowed ground of youth with ash and nicotine. But like all things in life he overcommitted. 

He lost his balance and started to fall. Deadlock attempted to grab him by the scruff of the oversized letterman and keep him from following the path of his wayward cigarette, but in doing so only managed to get himself dragged down as well. 

The ground met them quickly. The fall was an anticlimactic one, yet they’d managed to land in a heap that had Hot Rod groaning beneath a winded Deadlock.

“Ow.” Hot Rod’s voice was muffled against Deadlock’s shoulder. “Wow. Ok. Guess we both ate shit that time, huh?”

Hot Rod stirred in an attempt to get up, but he was effectively pinned. That didn’t stop him from trying, though, and before Deadlock’s ears stopped ringing from the impact he became uncomfortably aware of the way Hot Rod’s crotch was grinding against his own.

“Hey, uh.” Hot Rod gave Deadlock’s back a pat, either completely unaware of or unbothered by it. “This is cozy and all but I think I landed on my keys and it’s kinda agonizing. D’you mind?”

Deadlock was caught somewhere between arousal and mortification as he realized that - yep, he was _definitely_ getting hard over this, because Hot Rod refused to stop struggling and grunting in his ear and there was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose, right?

Hot Rod blinked up at him, woefully naive. “Deadlock? You hit your head?”

Yes, but that wasn’t exactly his concern. Deadlock willed himself to stand, turning around quickly before Hot Rod could get a look at what had to be a noticeable bulge in his pants.

“I should go,” Deadlock said. Run and maybe live to see another day.

“What? You can’t be serious.”

Deadlock started to walk away. Ironic, given that only moments ago he would have done anything to get Hot Rod to stay.

“Come on, man,” Hot Rod practically pleaded as he scrambled to his feet. “Where did this even come from? I thought things were good. _We_ were good! So why are you always getting so hot and cold with me?”

“Because, I don’t…” Deadlock ran a hand through his already tousled hair. He fisted his fingers in his locks and gave a tug, desperately searching for a moment of clarity and wanting to scream when the dull pain didn’t provide it. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, ok? What we’re doing. This, this whole.“ He gestured at the empty playground, with only the ethereal glow of the moon as their witness. It was far more intimate than the stadium lights and roaring crowd that had borne witness to their first kiss. “Everything with you and me. It’s not - _I’m_ not good with words, ok? And I have no idea what I’m doing and that freaks me the fuck out.”

Hot Rod was quiet during Deadlock’s little tirade. Deadlock wondered if he’d just blown it, this, whatever this thing is that he’s suddenly terrified of losing, that shared experience can only do so much when one of them has clearly learned to cope despite the unfairness of the hand they’d been dealt; that whatever charity Hot Rod had for him has run out, leaving them both to confront the reality that Deadlock is am emotionally volatile wreck who’d given up on good things in life when Gasket had died.

“You think I know either?” Hot Rod eventually said. “I’m just as lost as you are. I can talk a big game and all that but you know? At the end of the day, none of it’s real. I’m kinda full of shit like that sometimes. But then I’m doing something stupid like sneaking out of the dorms in the middle of the night and making an idiot of myself outside your window and suddenly none of that matters!”

He looked small and fragile standing there, bundled in Deadlock’s jacket with his arms tucked against his chest, yet his words were anything but. “None of that matters when I’m with you.”

Deadlock walked towards Hot Rod. His stride had a purpose to it, but what exactly it was eluded him. Part of him wanted to grab Hot Rod right then and there, to make good on the unspoken promise that had been in that chaste press of Hot Rod’s lips against his own. 

Hot Rod’s flesh was pale, a blank canvas save for the freckles that were splattered across it like fine flecks of paint. It would be so easy to sully it with tooth and nail, to weave constellations from those sun kissed stars and let everyone know that Hot Rod had chosen _him._

Deadlock stopped just in front of Hot Rod. His legs and tongue felt leaden, and he could do nothing more than meet that heated gaze that had always refused to shrink beneath his glower. 

“Fine,” Hot Rod said, and he didn’t break eye contact even as he worked his way out of Deadlock’s jacket and tossed it on the nearby seesaw. “You and I both suck at talking so you know what? Screw that.”

He took a step back and held his arms wide, as if presenting himself. “Hit me.”

Deadlock couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “What?”

“Hit me,” Hot Rod repeated, giving his chest an emphatic thump with his fist. “We’re settling this the way that you and me know how to. Come on.”

“I’m not hitting you first,” Deadlock said in place of a flat-out rejection, because despite everything Hot Rod’s proposal made its own twisted kind of sense. 

“Ok,” Hot Rod said, and it was the only warning Deadlock got before Hot Rod closed the gap between them with a single step and delivered a punch right to Deadlock’s jaw. 

There was more force behind it than Deadlock would have thought possible. Hot Rod was small, sure, but there was an undeniable strength to him that could have only been born from adversity. 

It would have been an insult to hold back, so Deadlock returned the favor with an uppercut that left Hot Rod staggering.

“That’s the spirit,” Hot Rod said. He winced as he worked his jaw but didn’t let it keep him down for long. 

Deadlock attempted to dodge his next hit, but Hot Rod’s fist still managed to collide with his temple. Before Deadlock could recover and retaliate another blow had been dealt, this time managing to clock him square in the eye.

Hot Rod faltered after his fist connected, and Deadlock pounced on the opportunity. Hot Rod was fast but Deadlock undeniably had the advantage in size and strength. Deadlock tackled Hot Rod to the ground, managing to get a few good hits in that had blood trickling from Hot Rod’s nose as the two struggled to get the upper hand.

The adrenaline was doing nothing to help his arousal - making it worse, even, and Deadlock could only hope that Hot Rod would be too focused on the fight to notice the way his cock was straining against his jeans. 

“That all you got?” Hot Rod taunted. He was still remarkably spirited, even with blood smeared on his face and Deadlock pinning him down. 

They didn’t stay that way for long. Hot Rod kneed Deadlock right where it hurt, and Deadlock was too busy biting his tongue in agony to put up a fight as Hot Rod proceeded to flip them over.

Hot Rod had managed to use Deadlock’s size to his advantage, somehow. A drop of blood dripped down from his nose and onto Deadlock’s chest as he sat straddling Deadlock’s waist, now undoubtedly aware of the effect he’d had and why Deadlock had been left incapacitated.

“You win,” Deadlock yielded. “You win, ok, just…”

His left eye was starting to swell and he had the sudden suspicion he might not ever father children, but as they stayed there struggling to catch their breath, he felt more at peace than he had in months - years, even.

“Hey.”

Deadlock wheezed. “Hey.”

Hot Rod was still grinning, even with a busted nose and lip. “You look like shit.”

It hurt to laugh. Deadlock did so anyways. “You too.”

“You feel any better?”

Deadlock considered the pain in his face and balls that had yet too dull. Somehow, the answer was still, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Me too,” Hot Rod said quietly. He lowered himself down until his ear was pressed against Deadlock’s chest and closed his eyes, as if preparing to settle in for a nap. Deadlock would have died. “Glad you’re just as messed up as I am, buddy.”

Something rustled in the bushes nearby. A siren wailed in the distance, triggering a cacophony of howling that drowned out the quiet ambiance of the playground.

“Hey Deadlock?”

“Mhm?”

Hot Rod whispered in his ear, coquettish in that way that never failed to leave Deadlock yearning. “Do you want to go and head somewhere more private?”

He ground against Deadlock’s crotch teasingly slow to drive the point home, and that’s when Deadlock knew this brat was going to be the death of him.

And he was never going to let him go. 


End file.
